


Hurts like heaven

by Supertights



Category: Avengers Academy, Avengers: The Initiative
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Baggage, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, POV Third Person, Self-Harm, Superheroes, Survivor Guilt, Wordcount: Over 1.000, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supertights/pseuds/Supertights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days following the fall of Camp H.A.M.M.E.R. are not easy. Old dictatorships have fallen, new regimes rise up to take their place, and Robbie Baldwin tries to find his place in the world with a little help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurts like heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starseverywhere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseverywhere/gifts).



> A huge thank you goes out to my amazing and patient beta Carbonel.
> 
> Please note: This is a work of fiction and may contain triggers for people who are sensitive to discussion around depression, self-harm, and survivor's guilt.

_He turned and Nita was there beside him; she looked angry again. They'd argued about the mission earlier in the morning. "Nitro is getting away," she said, running after the villain._

_"No," he replied. "Nita -- wait!" He reached out to stop her, but she was already gone. Everything ran in fast forward for a moment, as if he'd pressed a button on a remote, then stopped -- just in time for Nitro to explode, the resulting blastwave expanding rapidly toward him, stripping the flesh from Nita's bones, ripping Thrash and Microbe apart. Too late again. Always too late to stop it happening._

_The edge of the blast hit him, triggering his kinetic powers and_ \-- he woke up, a scream frozen in his mouth. He fumbled for the light and, sobbing, fell back against the pillow. A small furred head nudged his hand, and he stroked his purring cat until his heart stopped pounding and he found the strength to get up and stumble to the small washroom, splashing water on his face. He leaned above the basin for a minute.

When he returned to the bedroom, he stood looking at the Penance helmet. It was displayed, not with pride but with other more complicated emotions.

Robbie ran his fingers lightly over the spikes, feeling the pinprick pain that came from the sharp points grazing his fingertips. His powers surged in response, ready to destroy everything.

Sighing, he sat back on the edge of the bed, and the cat, Niels, climbed into his lap, kneading his legs as he picked up the journal on the bedside cabinet. He wrote detailed notes on the dream and how it made him feel, then snapped the rubber band around the book. Sliding back between the sheets, he turned off the lamp and waited in the dark for sleep to return.

  
Weeks earlier

Sometimes, when he was completely alone, he picked up the helmet and pressed the sharpest points against his skin, just to see if he still craved it, craved the pain that obliterated everything else in his mind. A single bead of blood was enough to bring a rush so powerful that he was driven to his knees.

It took him blowing the hotel bathroom to splinters for someone to notice.

He talked his way out of it, barely coherent, babbling about nightmares. His closest friends believed him, as he knew they would, and he felt as low as a human being could feel for lying instead of asking for their help.

Robbie didn't believe he deserved their help, though, even now, when they'd opened their arms and welcomed him back. After so many months of being a tool that Osborn had used for destruction, barely tolerated in Thunderbolt Mountain, and later at Camp H.A.M.M.E.R., after being manipulated by Moonstone, Osborn, and Taskmaster, he found being in the company of people who genuinely loved him was, for lack of a more appropriate term, freaking him out.

After he blew his bathroom to hell, the team moved as a unit to a new hotel, and Vance installed himself in the second bed without discussion.

"Why do you keep this old thing?" asked his friend and former team-mate lightly. Vance was one of his best friends, and someone Robbie had lately spent time avoiding. With a casual use of his telekinesis, he was levitating the Penance helmet and rotating it in the space between their beds. More than once, he'd felt a flare of nerves when Vance picked up the helmet and ran his thumb across the fresh bloodstains on the spikes, studying Robbie's reactions. Robbie waited a minute or two for Vance to finish his latest thought.

"I," he tried to think of a believable lie but a combination of exhaustion, emotional and physical, a lack of sleep and the constant guilt born of lying to his nearest and dearest, left him empty of possible responses. "To remember," he said, adding, "my mistakes."

"Mistakes," repeated Vance thoughtfully. The helmet continued to rotate lazily. "Everyone makes mistakes; you're no different from anyone else who accidentally blew up half a city and it's not as exclusive a club as you'd like to believe. You know what I think?"

"Vance, I don't need you psychoanalysing me right now." Robbie looked down, studying his bare feet.

"I think you should put it away for a while and take some time to remember that Penance is not you." Vance lowered the helmet back into Robbie's hands, carefully, so no spike came into contact with his skin. "I'm sure I don't need to say it, but if you ever need to talk, you can talk to me. I'll listen, I won't say a word unless you ask."

Robbie nodded. "I know, and one day soon I think I'll take you up on the offer."

"Hmmm."

"What?"

His friend shrugged. "You think I don't know when you're lying? Believe me, I know your tells even when you don't know you've given anything away."

"I haven't lied. Okay, I've stretched the truth when I needed to..." Vance raised a disbelieving eyebrow. He got the feeling that Vance wasn't going to be satisfied with the usual vague promises. "I have nightmares," he said reluctantly.

Vance nodded.

"I see it over and over again, from every conceivable angle. Sometimes it's Richie instead of Dwayne, or Angel instead of Nita. I never saw it happen, it was so fast, but in my dreams, I see them ripped apart by the blast wave, slowly, in graphic detail. They kept showing me the photographs of Nita's and Dwayne's bodies, Microbe's, too. Images of the bodies of children burned or broken, sometimes just like they'd gone to sleep and never woken up." He leaned forward and hung his head down, squeezing his eyes shut against a torrent of tears that threatened to overrun them, feeling his gorge rise as it did every night, when he screamed himself awake. Warm hands took his and held them tightly.

Looking up, he met Vance's eyes, the corners crinkled with concern, but there was none of the judgement he'd grown to expect when he talked about these things with other people.

"I have profound regrets. I want nothing more than to go back and relive that morning. Never get out of bed -- no, further back than that. I want to never have gone on that stupid television show." His mouth was suddenly dry. "Stupid damn show." He began to cry, a little at first, then a lot, for a long time. He'd never given himself permission to do it before. It felt like a privilege he hadn't earned, the right to feel sorry for himself. "Stupid show," he said again. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." He really wanted to punch something, or break a lamp, or.... or cut himself. He almost licked his lips, saliva flooding his previously dry mouth.

"I don't know about that. Not stupid," said Vance suddenly. Then he grinned and added, "I thought the first season was great. I have it on DVD."

Robbie looked up at him, disbelieving. "What?"

"I liked the episode in the zoo, with the Super-Apes," said Vance wistfully. "That was a great episode." He let go of Robbie's hands then, as if remembering that he was still holding them. "Sorry, I said I would only listen, and I'm babbling on about nothing, really."

"That's... that's okay," said Robbie, dryly. "I forgive you." He sniffed. "It's not like we can ever shut you up anyway, Supertights."

"Well, I'll pay for breakfast if you drag yourself out of the hotel room today, _Toothpick_. You don't even have to change." Vance kicked the pile of Robbie's discarded clothes on the floor. "I think your dirty laundry swallowed the cat this morning.

"I'm wearing a towel," replied Robbie loftily. "I think I can manage better than a towel -- don't mess with my wardrobe system; all of that clothing is alphabetized. As for my cat, he's fine, he's just nesting."

"Outrageous!" Vance pretended offense for a moment. "Food?" His stomach grumbled. "I'm starving!"

For a brief moment Robbie felt good, he felt like the old joker was back; and then his nerves kicked in when he thought about leaving the room. He didn't want to socialize with other people; it led to memories of a different life, where he was carefree and responsibility was just a word he avoided most of the time. "Gimme a minute? I just need to find something," he said, picking up the clothes and folding them carefully on the bed. "It's in here somewhere, and it's important." He faked a smile. "Out in a second."

"I'll be waiting, and I'll send in a rescue party if you're not out in a few." Then Vance was gone, closing the door behind him.

Alone again, completely alone, Robbie looked at the helmet next to him. He reached toward the dull spikes, then, biting his lip, he curled his outstretched fingers into a fist, groaning as he held himself back. He didn't know why he held back.

He wanted to touch it, have it slice his flesh, cut it a little, make things better... All better.

Robbie snatched his hand back and held it to his chest, heaving deep breaths, painful and tearing, before picking up a shirt that only remotely smelled like sweat and darkness, pulling it over his head.

 

They walked in comfortable silence to the diner down the road. Many of their friends were already there, eating at a booth near the front window. A flurry of hands waved at him. He waved back uncertainly.

"Where's..." he made clawing gestures. "She hasn't been around since..." He couldn't remember when he'd seen Tigra last. Time was elusive. "Did you manage to get Doc Samson on the phone yet?"

"Didn't I mention that Doc Samson is probably not going to be able to see you? Or talk. Or... or anything." He wasn't imagining it; there was a tone to Vance's voice. Nervousness, unhappiness, evasiveness, a lot of -nesses and Robbie was an expert in -nesses, so he knew one when he heard one.

"Is ness a word?" he asked absently.

"No, why?" replied Vance, looking at him closely again. "You'll see Tigra later. But not Doc Samson."

"Oh." He wasn't sure he liked Tigra; she was, in some ways, as troubled as he was. It was both painful to be around her and a relief to see that not everyone was "fine."

"Don't sound so excited. We're meeting with Wasp at the same time." Vance put a hand on his arm to delay him for a moment outside the door. "Before we sit down with the others, I need to talk to you about later. We're also meeting with Captain America."

He swallowed hard and shook his head. "I don't know," Robbie said slowly, "if I'm ready for that yet. Cap comes across as a bit of a hardass and I don't know..."

"It's important, I think you should be there. I may have said you _would_ be there." Vance smiled apologetically. "Sorry, again." He shrugged. "It's up to you, though I figured if anyone had some insight on kids that needed guidance with uncontrollable powers, it was going to be..." Vance stopped and looked at him carefully, scrutinizing his expression of abject horror with curiosity. "What?"

"You. Are. So. _Clueless_!" growled Robbie. "Why would you do that? Why would you sign me up for anything? I'm not ready for this, return to life, I don't know what else to even call it. I-I'm not ready to be around people. I can't stand it, I want to claw my goddamned skin off right now, and you've, God, Vance, how could you do that..." He put a hand to his head. He wanted to turn and run, but everyone in the diner had stopped to stare at him, at their fighting in the doorway. "What?" he screamed at them, and even his friends flinched and looked away but Vance was smiling, albeit apologetically.

"This is the first real reaction I've gotten from you, and now I know Robbie's still in there. It's good."

Sometimes he really didn't get Vance at all.

He and Vance stood in silence for a few minutes, staring at each other, neither one backing down, Robbie fighting the urge to punch something, when the closest thing to punch was his best friend. "You really are something; where do you get off signing me up without asking if I'm fit for duty?"

Vance sighed. "I vouched for your experience as a former teenage superhero, and your wisdom -- you've survived hell since Stamford -- and mostly I vouched for your worth as a decent human being. I argued for your place on the faculty in a school for kids the age we were when we got into this god-awful business. I stood in Captain America's face, the preeminent superhero of this country, and told him that it wasn't even worth trying without someone like you, a guy who'd seen both sides, hell, all sides. Sure, he's a little crunchy right now, I said, a lot low in spirits, still finding his feet, his place in life again. I wanted you at the academy because we _need_ you there. I'm saddled with Wasp and Tigra, and neither of them was a teenage superhero, neither has seen what we've seen, or been where we've been. They've been to their own dark places, dark as they come, but we need a _Speedball_ to teach these kids the kind of things they never tell you about when you sign up for a team gig. You'll teach them about consequences, and responsibility, and pain, and -- and loss, I suppose. Sorry. Rob, I don't mean to hurt you but you're the poster child for things going horribly wrong."

"Teach? You want me to be a _teacher_!" Robbie put his hands up and backed away. "Holy sh... No. No. I'm not doing this, we're not having this conversation anymore. How could you possibly think I would be in any way suitable?"

Vance was looking past him. Eyes wide, he nodded and turned away.

A hand clamped softly down on his shoulder, barely hinting at the strength in the grip, and stopping his backwards stumble. "Walk with me," rumbled a familiar voice behind him. "We have things to talk about."

"No, we really don't," grumbled Robbie, shoving his hands into his pockets. "There's nothing you can say..."

Steve Rogers looked down at him. "Vance convinced me. I believe the Avengers Academy needs someone like you -- as Speedball when you're ready, maybe even a little Penance, too. I recognize a troubled soul when I see one, burdened with unfair guilt and a moral complexity that's getting bogged down in your own brain, son. That's what you need to do, get out of your head and start living life again. You've punished yourself enough. Forgive and move on."

Robbie stared at him. "I can't. I can't forgive myself."

"Then I forgive you."

"Doesn't work that way," said Robbie stubbornly.

"Work it off, then, this atonement you need to make, keep an eye on these troubled kids. Norman Osborn tortured them: physically, mentally, emotionally. You can relate to that better than anyone else on the academy staff bar one, and I think you know the pain and rage she carries around inside. Osborn tortured you, too; as much as you've tortured yourself, he allowed it to continue. Robert, you've walked a mile in their shoes already; try to help them make better choices before they know they're making them."

Ugh. Captain damned America and his world-class guilt trips. "Okay, I'll consider it, but it has to be on my terms. I don't know if I'm ready to be Speedball again."

"Fair enough. I can't ask for more than that." Captain America gave him a long sideways look that ended in a smile. "I think you'll do fine though, Robbie. I have a good feeling about it."

  
Now

Pulling on the uniform was such a familiar act, he found solace in the comfortable drag across his skin, the way his scars felt hot and twitchy under the tight spandex. He needed to remember what it all had cost him, even while moving forward as everyone wanted him to -- as he himself wanted to. In some strange way it _felt_ good to put his old uniform on, felt like... going home after a long time away. He looked up and saw that the reflection in the mirror was smiling. Speedball, smiling again. "Weird," he said out loud, only for the word to be bounced back at him. Three mornings in a row, he'd experienced this "weirdness," and he hoped that it would pass eventually.

"Robert?"

He started, and looked around for the source of the voice. Rooms in the Infinite Mansion had an odd sound quality; not quite an echo, but a distinct sense of auditory spatial distortion, or something long and a lot more scientific. Hank had mentioned it, well, burbled on like a happy brook while Robbie spaced out and tried not to laugh at Pietro's expression of real pain as the doctor talked. He could relate; social interaction was a different kind of pain and one he wasn't used to it anymore. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to lock himself away in a padded cell again. "Yes?" he replied slowly. "Who is there?" He half-believed his mind was playing tricks on him again.

"It is I, Jocasta. Dr Pym has asked me to remind all staff that the meeting is to begin shortly."

"Thank you," he said, then, "Jocasta?"

"Yes, Robert?" she replied.

"Do you watch everything we do in our private rooms?" He looked at the Penance helmet on the display unit. Blood showed on the spikes; he'd not wiped it clean yet and, out of habit, checked to see if blood showed through the sleeves of his uniform.

There was a long silence and then she said, "No, Robert. My voice is the only intrusion into your personal space."

Behind him, a buff colored streak landed on his bed and demanded attention. He sat on the edge as a furry head butted up against his hand, biting it gently, then releasing it. Robbie closed his eyes and experienced a tiny rush of power, closing his hand around it, absorbing it back into himself. He shivered. A thunderous purr from Niels roused him, and he stroked the thick fur on the cat's back. "Someone needs a brushing," he commented, coughing, as a cloud of fur floated up into the air. Niels jumped down and sprinted into his cat palace, staring back at Robbie in feline disdain.

"Whatever," he said, chuckling.

Robbie pulled the rest of his uniform on -- the headpiece and goggles, and lastly, his gloves, and stood up. "You coming?" he asked, but the cat ignored him.

The door clicked shut behind him and he stood in the hallway for a moment, getting his bearings, taking a deep breath. The door directly opposite opened, and Vance stepped out quickly, Robbie imagined he'd been waiting for him to appear.

"You got the hurry up from Jocasta as well?" asked Vance.

He nodded. "Yeah."

Some days, Robbie felt fragile enough to need a buffer against the world, and Vance was that buffer. He still remembered Vance's face when he'd revealed himself as Penance. How happy he'd been despite having also been shocked.

Robbie ran a hand through his short hair and shivered again. "Feels odd, you know," he said. "To be Speedball again." It was the first time since they'd moved in to the mansion that he'd voiced this to his friend.

"Well, I think it's normal, given everything you've been through. I'm sure there'll be a period of adjustment..." said Vance.

"Don't Doctor Phil me, Vance," he half-joked, half-warned. Edgy. Yes, he felt edgy today. Robbie rubbed at his scars through the blue spandex. "I'm fine."

"I won't bring it up again," said Vance with an apologetic grin. "But you'd be the one to know if you're okay or not. I trust you to tell me if you need a friend to talk to again."

"I'm okay," he insisted.

They were the last to arrive at the now-twice-daily faculty meeting, walking in on Tigra and one of her infamous and exhausting, "What were you thinking, inviting them to be teachers, Hank! They're not qualified" diatribes. Robbie glanced to his right and saw Justice's nostrils flare in irritation, but his friend held his tongue and smiled charmingly through stiff lips and narrowed eyes. From what Robbie had heard from Elvin, Greer and Vance disagreed about a lot of things all of the time. Quicksilver had closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair, his expression one of complete and utter boredom, possibly even physical pain. Wasp simply looked like a bug about to be pinned down as his eyes flicked between Tigra and the two of them. Wasp coughed lightly and called the meeting to order. "I trust you've all had time to familiarize yourself with the candidate selection today? We'll begin with Kenneth Mack."

"His chosen name is Fortress," said Speedball, watching the video interview with Ken. Each of the faculty had a tablet in front of them; consulting electronic files was far simpler than paper in Wasp's Infinite Mansion. "He seems pretty relaxed, all things considered."

"I believe he thinks I can cure him," said Wasp.

"Can you? Cure him?" asked Speedball.

"It's still early, and I have many tests to administer before I can conclusively say yes or no to that question." Wasp looked uncomfortable. "Maybe."

"Isn't there a Fortress already?" asked Justice.

Quicksilver's fingers blurred. "Yes," said the speedster.

"Haven't there been multiples of Captain America, Spider-woman, Hawkeye, Patriot, and Wasp?" asked Speedball in a low voice, then louder, "I don't see the issue with two Fortresses."

"Copyright, trademark, take your pick. These days, people are more sensitive to the legal issues that go hand in hand with taking responsibility for actions, particularly where property damage is concerned," replied Justice. "There have been three Marvel Boys to my knowledge. I'm not even the first," he said, the last with a grin.

Speedball grinned back. "Only two Speedballs, though."

"His backup choice is Mettle," noted Tigra, calling them all back to the topic, and flicking a page up with a swipe of her claw. "Only one Tigra," she added with a smirk.

"Is it just me?" said Justice, raising an eyebrow at the photo.

"No, Mr. Obvious," said Quicksilver. "The boy bears an unfortunate resemblance to the Red Skull. My question is, if other than that, there is nothing to indicate he has homicidal tendencies, why is he considered a threat?"

"His unfortunate resemblance is part of it. He required medical help, so Osborn ripped his skin right off," said Wasp, angrily.

They talked about the boy who looked like Red Skull for a while, going back and forth on many aspects of his file. "Psych tests came back okay, though. Could've been a lot worse." Robbie was always interested in the psych tests, seeing how insane Osborn had made people.

"Each of these young people is at risk of becoming the absolute worst of villains with the correct set of parameters," said Jocasta. It was unsettling to remember she was Ultron's wife; though her behavior was never beyond reproach, she seemed to go out of her way to prove that she was a good robot. "We should weigh that risk carefully before rejecting _any_ candidate. This is as much a test of our skills as teachers as it is of their potential as heroes."

The table was silent except for unrelenting foot-tapping coming from Quicksilver.

"All right, a show of hands please -- is Mettle accepted for the first semester of the Avengers Academy?" Wasp glanced around the table and made a note. "Unanimously accepted. Next candidate for consideration is Jennifer Takeda, codename Hazmat..."

 

 fin.

**Author's Note:**

> To starseverywhere, thanks for such a cool request. Robbie is an amazing character and I really enjoyed writing him.
> 
> I do not own or hold copyright to these characters, nor do I make any profit from the use of them in this work of fanfiction.


End file.
